Artíre's Revenge by WendWriter

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Chapter 6

On the window-ledge near the altar, Artíre the Watcher overheard every word exchanged between Narcawë and Sauron. He desperately wished that their conversation would turn to the curse that bound him to the body of the beetle he currently inhabited. The idea of using the beetle as a hiding place had been a good one, but Artire had not intended to remain in that form permanently. He felt as if he had been sewn into every fiber of the tiny creature. The sensation of being tightly wrapped, which had come upon him while the spell was being uttered, had not left him. What could he do?

Sauron was at a disadvantage, and he knew it. Whatever could he do? He could not fathom why Melkor, his liege lord, held him under suspicion nor why he had sent two other Maiar to spy on him. Surely this was Artíre's doing!

Narcawë was grinning arrogantly at him like a wolf. That could not be a good thing. It meant that what Narcawë was telling him was true. Did the other Maia mean to supplant him?

Probably.

Would Narcawë be able to hold a fortress in trust for Melkor if the Valar should come again?

Probably not.

The other Maia lacked the cunning required to be particularly useful to Melkor. At best, he could lead Orcs into battle against the foes of Melkor. He had no building skills, nor was he adept with magic. He could only speak of himself as if he really had a place in Melkor's council, but he was just a spy and nothing more. Perhaps the excessive self-regard Narcawë exhibited  could be used to Sauron's advantage. The Deceiver grinned inwardly at the thought. Narcawë was going to pay for every word, every gesture, and every slight against Sauron. Oh, yes, he would pay, and pay dearly.

"I was going to ask what you were planning to do about our mutual friend before I came along," said Narcawë, his tone more odious than ever.

Sauron froze. He had just sent his priests out with orders to bind the Watcher. What if Narcawë had discovered this?

"I overheard your priests mumbling something about binding Artíre to the body he is hiding in," added Narcawë.

"I believed him to be responsible for the riot that killed those Men," Sauron protested with great vehemence. "What was I supposed to do? I have been entrusted with a sacred task. I could not allow another to interfere."

"Do you not realize that if the body he inhabits should perish, Artíre will be diminished?" Narcawë challenged.

"That did not matter to me when protecting Lord Melkor's interests was paramount!" Sauron argued.

"Well," replied Narcawë in a silky tone, "now you know that Lord Melkor's interests include your permitting his servants to go about their business unhindered."

"That remains to be seen," Sauron countered.

"Indeed," said Narcawë, "although, at the moment, you are not in a position to argue with me. Tell me the spell for unbinding Artíre, and I will forget to tell Sauron that you composed such a spell in the first place. It would not do to offend our liege lord, after all."

Artíre remained on the window-ledge as Sauron chanted the spell and Narcawë repeated it, asking Sauron to repeat it several times. Each repetition lifted a layer of enchantment off the Watcher, until the sensation of being tightly wrapped dissipated. The Watcher metaphorically stood up and drifted down to the ground outside the temple.

There were no other Maiar around, as far as he could see, so Artíre had some time to consider what to do. He would simply have to learn a counter-spell to protect himself so he would never be bound like that again. He also decided not to attempt to possess another creature, whether animal, Man or Elf, ever again. It was too risky.

After some consideration, Artíre decided it would be simplest to just walk into the temple and allow Narcawë to support him. Fleeing was not an option. If Sauron tried to bind him again, the other Maia could release him. This, he mused bitterly, meant taking sides again. The trouble with taking sides was the obligation it placed upon him to aid the people he had elected to join, whether it suited him to do so or not. The Watcher was unhappy about this. His only desire was to find a comfortable position observing the lives of others. He did not like getting involved with the plans and schemes of would-be overlords. The need to exact revenge on Sauron was now acute, and he was determined to gain some recompense for the ordeal he had just endured.

His choice made, Artíre went to the main door and entered the temple. "Hail Sauron, Lord of Rhûn!" he declared as he walked up the main aisle. "Hail Narcawë, trusted servant of our lord Melkor," he added for good measure.

Sauron turned and faced the Watcher, quivering with outrage. Only Artíre could make a compliment sound like an insult. "Is this not the Watcher I see before me?" Sauron spat. "You walk in here as if you have only just arrived and accuse me of treachery before this... underling. How dare you?"

"We are all underlings to Melkor, Sauron. Well, those images upon the wall and that statue over there look remarkably like the Maia form you have been known to wear. What would you have us think of them, if not that you have claimed lordship over these lands? Know you not that our lord Melkor has sent me here to see what you are doing and to report on your... progress... to him?" Artíre retorted with relish. This was a sight he had been aching to see for a long time.

"Do you deny the possession of the Men Kanu and Eshtun?" asked Sauron, pointing dramatically at the Watcher.

"Why would I possess Men? You are the necromancer, this is what you and your followers do, but I am not your follower, Sauron. I am the servant of Melkor. Besides, you can easily fashion a form for yourself from the dust of the earth. What need have you for the frail flesh of Men?" Artíre asked, affecting an innocent tone.

"Has your spying not revealed this to you, Artíre?" Sauron asked, suspicion hardening his voice.

"Narcawë and I have been asked to observe your progress here and to report to him," Artíre replied, moving to stand beside Narcawë. "I hope we will have good news to tell him."

The Watcher grinned. He had Sauron right where he wanted him. "Oh," he added, "I believe I overheard something about binding me to whatever form I might inhabit. I hope you do not intend to hinder me in my work."

"I would not dream of committing such a crime," Sauron said, a sour edge to his voice. "Not at all. You may... observe me at your leisure."

"That I will," replied Artíre. "Come, Narcawë, let us see what our friend has been doing here in Rhûn." The Watcher led Narcawë out of the temple, confident that he would aid him if any of the other Maiar should attempt to detain him.

Outside the temple, the sun was setting, and Narcawë and Artíre walked through the streets of the city, looking around them. People went hither and thither about their business, but quietly, as if afraid of being noticed. A pall of fear hung over the city, a sense of impending doom. Invisible, the two Maiar went among them, listening to their conversations to discover what was going on.

"I hope that walking dead man has been destroyed," said one Man to another.

"Did the demon responsible not possess Eshtun, the servant of the High Priest? They had to cut off his head and burn the body," replied the other.

"The servant of the High Priest?" the first Man asked too loudly, his eyes wide with shock. "Then none of us are safe!" With that, the Man turned and fled.

The street cleared in a matter of moments as the frightened crowd dispersed.

"This is very bad," said Narcawë to Artíre. "Did you have anything to do with this, whether intentional or not?"

"What does it matter?" Artíre replied. "Neither of us cares enough for Sauron to wish him well. I was there when he humiliated you in front of the others and sent you away with your tail between your legs. Now you return to him, your head held high, scorning him in his own temple. Surely you care not if he comes to ruin?"

"I would not mourn too deeply if he did," Narcawë declared. "He thinks too highly of himself, and seems to think that nothing he does is ever as bad as what others do to him. He slays Men easily enough, yet if anyone does so without his permission, he objects; yet he cares little for them, he merely finds the loss of certain individuals an inconvenience."

"He has it fixed in his mind that all should answer to him for everything, and that he is second only to Melkor," said Artíre, indignation filling his voice, "except when Melkor is absent, in which case we must all answer to him. He is merely a Maia, not even a Vala. Why should we answer to him at all? Oh, yes, I nearly forgot - he is the Lord of Rhûn, venerated as a god by the Men of this land. Must we also bow down and worship him? What has he done, except accuse us of treachery, sundering us from our friends and making us afraid to show our faces anywhere?"

"What harm has our existence done him?" asked Narcawë. "None at all! Join with me, Artíre, and together we will bring him down!"

Looking this way and that, Artíre gave careful consideration to what Narcawë had just said. None of the other Maiar appeared to be around. "Very well, my friend," he replied. "What do you propose?"

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